ST. CATHERINES HILL (2)

There are few regions
of secrets still intact:
the hillfort defends
borders of light. A circle
of rucked pastures deep
below time, slant barriers
of commerce. Agricultural
settlements remain here
unprotected: in winter lost
in snow: each summer
below skylark song. Our
insecure past is absent
from its burial place. On
climbing slumped ramparts
a cherished defeat is found
in forged horizons, hoarded
hills: O agoraphobic height,
our warren of mysteries,
you must have failed.

 

 

 

 

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